Elysium
by CrystalClear18
Summary: Goku is broken. One slight smile away from being gone, the only thing saving him is the one thing he can never have. Vegeta is numb. The scars maiming his face are the only sign that once long ago, he had been human. He had felt pain. Chi-Chi is lost. Her big brown eyes search blindly for any sense of existing. Is there hope? Because life isn't always meant for the living.
1. Prelude: Dandelion Wine

** * Prelude:**** Dandelion Wine**** ***

* * *

**.**

He wished he could blow them all to bits.

He felt the rage begin in his fist, coursing fast through his veins and exploding in his heart.

Crazy, crazy, crazy.

That's what they fucking called him. That's what they dared to let come out of their disgusting mouths.

Crazy.

They were the crazy ones. They were the ones who tried to find a meaning in life when it was so obvious there wasn't one. Wasn't it obvious? It was to him. Because _he_ was the only un-crazy one.

_He_ was the only one who mattered in this god-forsaken universe. _He_ was the only significant one.

They were worthless. He'd show them one day. They didn't matter. They were nothing. They would be wiped away as pathetically as they had risen from the ashes. They were dissipating entities – he was the only tangible one.

He'd show them one day.

Oh, hell, he'd show them.

* * *

.

She rolled her shoulders back, feeling a slight pain in her arm as she did so. The wind cut harshly against her skin, and she closed her eyes and welcomed it. Welcomed every emotion – if only to desert the numbness.

The dark was tantalizing. It was the only escape that life had been merciful enough to provide for her. The night was such a scary thing, but the day was the real demon. It lurched at her every short while, forcing her to exist when she didn't know how.

She was a flower –

not one of those long-lasting, flourescent spring wilders,

But a Welwitschia; stranded in the desert under such deafening conditions that the only thing she could do was breathe, not live. Not really.

She let her mind wander, slowly feeling it travel further and further, making it harder for her to come back. It wasn't healthy; she realized that. But it was the only type of living that she knew how to do. It was safe. It was easy to escape; it was the returning that was always impossible. Especially when she had nothing to come back to.

She remembered her mother's amber gaze, the one that always taught her how to move forward. And it hadn't been enough for her future but she remembered her smile, and the way she always _rubbed_ her back, not patted it, like everyone else had.

* * *

She'd always wanted to be a nurse.

Every day of her life, that was she wanted to do – to save people.

And one day when she was four years old, she was playing outside out on the rooftops. She was a hyper child – her energy was too much. Everyone about her was always a little too much.

Every other girl would be indoors, playing with their dolls and pretending to be a mother in a game of "House", but she'd be outside, swinging from one tree to the next, scaling all the rooftops and screaming at the top of her lungs.

Every parent told their child to stay away from her because she was always too much.

Even her father would yell at her to come inside, worried that she'd fall off and hurt herself.

But she didn't listen. She was invincible. Like her mother had always told her – she was everything, and entirely undefeatable. Even by life; the cruellest of all punishers.

But even invincible can be broken, and that was the part that her mother had never told her.

And as she was rushed to the hospital with a broken arm, all she could remember was shrieking at her mother for lying to her. For forgetting to tell her that she was nothing, in a world where even everything was not enough.

And in the hospital, she remembered the nurse's blazing green eyes as she smiled and patched up her arm. She worked with such precision, such delicacy. And the woman had joked about what a trooper she was for not crying.

Her mother was right beside her, stroking her hair, and kissing her head.

"Invincibility can be broken, my dear," She had said in that strong, but soft, throaty voice of hers. "But we can also be saved. There are those that help us – we save each other."

"L-Like Ms. Nurse over there?" Her own voice, just a young, squeaky whisper.

Her mother's golden smile. "Exactly, my dear. Just like the nurse."

* * *

She smiled at the memory, quietly holding herself as her mother once had, swaying back and forth and wishing to float away. To become the wind and whisper into an escape. Anywhere but there.

* * *

She'd always wanted to be a nurse.

But '_had_ wanted to' soon became the operative sentence,

because now, standing in the misty air alone, with that damn music blasting behind her,

she wasn't sure if there were anyone that she'd want to save.

Even herself.

* * *

**A/N: This was a prelude, as stated above. Meaning it was a little snippet, a poem, if you will, to accompany the upcoming story. Please read on, and review:)**


	2. Chapter One: Eyes On Fire

**A/N: This story is going to be very ensemble-based. It will be centered on almost all of the characters, mainly Chi-Chi, Vegeta, Goku, Bulma, Krillin, and Eighteen (forgive me, Yamcha). They are all in their last year of high school, and will usually be quite OOC. This is because they are in an AU, and, therefore, I feel that they would have grown up to become different people than the anime/manga portrayed them. And it's dark.**

* **Chapter One: Eyes On Fire**** ***

"Why didn't you go to the party?"

He blinked up at her, his current thoughts being interrupted. His eyes slightly widened, surprised by her appearance beside him.

"Well, hello to you, too." He grinned at her, delighted.

She gave him a simple nod, and took the seat beside him. She motioned over to the waitress to walk over, and said a gruff, "Just some water, please."

"Why are you here?" Krillin suddenly asked.

She raised a brow. "Crude."

"No, no, I want you to be here. O-of course I do...I mean, n-not that I'm desperate, but –"

"Your damn stuttering..." She muttered, rubbing her head. There were bags under her eyes, he noticed, and a scar on her cheek. "Is your mind too fragile to form even a coherent thought?"

"W-What is that scar?"

"I asked you a question first."

"But this is more important. D-Did someone hurt you, Eighteen? Huh? Did someone lay a hand on you –"

"Answer my question first, Krillin, and maybe I'll delight you with the sound of my voice after." Her voice was stern. She was tired.

Krillin stared at her for a bit, somewhat disturbed by her tone. She was usually stern, but there was a slight, _slight _amusement always hidden in her voice. No one else ever noticed it, but he had, because, well, he noticed everything about her. Like the way her hair was not blonde, like everyone said, but a really, really light musky brown, kind of like the specks of brown that you saw in her eyes. Her _periwinkle_eyes.

Because her eyes weren't blue, he had decided. They were periwinkle – blue was too simple for her. Everything was too simple for her.

And he just looked at her, a small grimace on his face. In that one moment, when her voice had rang through the air, there was no amusement interlaced. It was bitter. And it ate at his heart, because she was everything in the world but bitter. Bitter was saved for murky coffee in the morning, and calculus homework on the weekend.

Bitter had always poisoned everything and everyone around him, but not her.

Bitter was a drug, because it was easy to fall into. It was safe, because it was an escape from having to deal with your problems. He was bitter. His brown eyes screamed of it. But bitter was too simple for her, and she was the only person in the whole world whom it did not suit. And he would work hard to make sure that it never would.

"I didn't want to go." He answered simply.

"But Goku went."

"Goku is not my master."

"No, of course not. That spot would be reserved for your father." Her tone was biting.

Krillin's voice was caught in his throat. He let out a small sigh, letting his head droop a little. "Wh-What do you mean by that –"

"Never mind," Eighteen sighed. "I'm sorry. That was out of line. I didn't mean that." But he could sense that there was no remorse in her words. She didn't really care.

It was quiet for a moment, as she stared off into space. He often wondered where it was that she went. Would she ever show him? He didn't think so. Even _he_ was too simple for her. But he noticed the slight crinkle in her forehead, the same one that she always got when she was concentrating, and he smiled softly to himself as he imagined where her mind was right at that moment. It was probably somewhere beautiful. He knew it would be.

"I can do things without Goku. He's not, like, Kami or something." Krillin picked at the label on the juice can in front of him. "I have my own thoughts too. My _own_ opinions. And don't tell me – I already know that everyone thinks I'm his sidekick or something, and that I'm just this dumb little dog that always follows him. But – "

"I don't." Her voice was quiet, as if she didn't mean for it to come out.

"What?"

She cleared her throat. "I never thought that you were..._that_. His, uh, his sidekick or whatever."

He knitted his brows and simply stared at her. "You didn't?"

She slowly shook her head. "Your eyes were always too lively for that. Goku's are always the same – even joyful can become monotonous if it's shown too often. But yours were, _are_, always so exhilarating. So persistent. Everything matters to you. You're not, uh, you're not...what's the word I'm looking for...uh..."

"Bitter?" He suggested softly.

She smiled. "No, that's not what I meant. But I guess it works." She finally turned to look at him. "Yeah, I guess you're not...uh...bitter."

"What colour are your eyes?" He suddenly asked.

"Uh, what?"

"Your eyes. What colour are they?"

"What in the hell does that have to do with any –"

"Just answer the question."

She frowned. "I-I don't know...I mean, they're a shade of blue, I guess, but I don't know. _Everyone's_ eyes are blue. And I always thought of myself as a little more than that, I guess. Like, I'm not just blue, but-but also, like..."

"Periwinkle?"

She laughed. "Jesus, Krillin, stop finishing my sentences. What are you, inside my head or something?"

He blushed and looked away. "I just notice things, that's all."

"Well it's a bit creepy, so tone down the hidden date rapist-hiding-in-your-tiny-body persona, would you? You're strong, but even a child's handcuffs would be enough to take your DeVito demeanour to court."

He laughed and shook his head, smiling brightly in the dim light of the diner. His chuckle sounded the air, not at the demeaning comment, but at the trace of amusement that had slowly etched back into her voice.

His smile grew.

Her periwinkle, musky-brown, everything, unbitter, never-simple voice.

She shook her head and laughed softly along with him. His eyes were always so lively.

.

There was a cup in his hand, and he stared down strangely at it. The liquid was yellow, he had noticed.

Kind of like pee.

He wrinkled his nose.

There was an arm strewn messily across his shoulders, and it smelled like sweat. He didn't know who the arm even belonged to – everywhere was so crowded and dirty and filled with so many hands and joints and heads and _tongues_ – why were there always so many tongues everywhere?

His eyes fell back on the liquid. He swished it around in the red cup. It smelled awful. Even worse than Pale Creepy-Sweat Arm on his shoulders. How on earth did people drink this stuff?

He felt a hand come a little too close to his _area_, so he quickly stood up and walked away, much to the dismay of the drunk bodies around him. He walked over to the kitchen, standing in the corner and pretending to busy himself with the fridge so nobody would disturb him. He threw the beer in his hand out, but kept the cup so people would stop offering him more. He didn't get drunk – he never had – but everyone around him was always so wasted that nobody noticed his sobriety.

He sighed, and leaned back against the counter.

He hated parties. That was the honest truth of it all.

He had never said anything, in fear that people would stop inviting him to them. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he was a conformist (he remembered how confused he had been when Chi-Chi had taught him that word).

But there was nothing wrong with that, was there? Was it so bad to want people to like you?

He sighed again, though louder this time.

She was outside, probably quite far away from the house. He imagined her standing in the breeze, her eyes closed, and her arms wrapped around herself; her hips gently swaying. He wondered what she would be thinking about.

She never told him her thoughts. Not her thoughts, but her _thoughts_. The ones that she got when she closed her brown gaze and swayed softly in the wind as she smiled – so, so, so, so gently – to herself.

She never told him. He had asked, but she merely laughed and ruffled his hair instead, as if that would silence him.

He wasn't that stupid. Yes, he was sometimes quite easily confused, but he wasn't so childlike that he would be that easily distracted. And he hated it when people treated him like he was mentally disabled or something. It was the one of the things in the world that just ate away at him.

But he didn't ask again, and instead smiled back down at her. She was so beautiful; her touch was enough to him.

And her beauty wasn't the kind that escaped your mind once you stopped looking at her. She was pretty, not only in her smile, but in the way her eyes screamed of fire and the way her fingers gently smoothed out the hairs behind his ears when she hugged him. She was beautiful in her heart. There was nobody like her.

He sighed again.

And that was the only thing wrong with her. She was too different. She was too much.

He leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes as if that would be an escape. He often didn't know where to travel to – his mind was not as free as hers, despite everyone presuming the opposite. She was the only free one he knew of, and she was the most oppressed. Because her mind was free but her body wasn't – if that made any sense.

Life was kind of sadistic in that way, wasn't it? How it toyed with its subjects and mocked their emotions, without any remorse. It was a kind of ruthlessness that you couldn't escape.

No escape, no escape.

Wasn't there some song like that, or something?

He didn't know.

But he gently laughed to himself. She had changed him so much. Even his thoughts were altered – though not for the better.

Most of the time, he wished he had never met her.

Wished she had never existed, not only in his life, but in any life that ever took form. Because he would never be content if there were such a thing as her that he never got to experience, but he only wished that she was just gone, and every sweater she had left at his house, and every touch she had left on his body, and every smile she had left in his memories was just gone as well, and everything was just anti-her, because she was just too much, too fucking much all the fucking time and

"The party's not done yet, dude." He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he instinctively shivered it off.

He slowly opened his eyes, and saw one of his teammates standing in front of him, looking not quite as sloppy as everyone else. There was a smile on his face. He smiled back.

"Lint. Looking a little fresher than everyone else, I see?"

"You know it." But his words were slightly slurred. "So what are you doing, standing all the way over here by your lonesome self?"

Goku shrugged. "I guess I just needed a break."

"And here I thought that heroes like you didn't take breaks."

"I'm no hero." He replied, suddenly harsh. But Lint raised a brow so he added something else. "I mean, scoring the final touchdown doesn't exactly make me a hero."

"Well, sure it does. Isn't that why we are all so beautifully gathered here on this oh-so-very-_fine_ night?"

Goku laughed. "You know Morrison would use any excuse to throw a party. The guy doesn't even fucking like me."

"Everyone fucking likes you. Hell, I'd fuck you cold if I were to ever go that way. But who knows –" Lint picked up the nearest red cup and took a sip from it. "Maybe lucky cup number 7 will be the one that will finally lead me straight to those _de-licious_ abs you're hiding under that tight little tee-shirt."

Goku grinned. "You're drunk."

"I'm _always_ drunk. Escapism – isn't that what they call it nowadays? Well, it's all just fancy-schmancy talk to provide an excuse for alcoholism. But I will tell you this, old friend," He put a hand over Goku's shoulders, and whispered in his ear. "The only way to get through this life, my friend, is to not feel it. And I don't know about you, but this red piece of shit right here –" He pointed to his cup. " – Seems like a pretty good fucking place to start, no?"

"Right...so...we drink ourselves away?"

"Not _away_-away. Just...enough. It has to be enough. Too much will fuck you something awful."

Goku sighed, nodding his head. "Too much." He said softly. Slowly, he pushed his friend off of him. Lint then began to stagger away before suddenly exclaiming and whipping back around.

"Oh, where's your little lady friend, by the way? Uh, what's her name? Shit, fuck, fuck – you know the one I'm talking about. Long black hair, kinda short. Doesn't really talk – like ever. Stares off into space a lot. You know the one...aw, shit. Fuck me dryer than a hot day in July – what is her _fucking_ name, again?"

"Chi-Chi." Goku responded, slightly angry. "Chi-Chi. Her name is Chi-Chi."

"Ah, right, _right_. Chi-Chi. No-Boobs, but her name is boobs, right? I mean, this ain't Asia, but I presume that's what it means, no? At least that's what, um, this really hot chick over there told me, and hey! Goku! There's this really hot chick over there, and she totally wants to hook up with you, I think, like she is willing to do the entire fucking thing, like even with that small little dinky of yours, and her friend is smokin' too, so,"

"Just go, Lint." Goku interrupted, his impatience risen. "And remember I'm driving you home, so, yeah. Don't let any strange men in trench coats feel you up in places that only your poor mother would dare to touch."

But Lint was already gone, lost in a sea of sweat, sex, and simplicity.

Goku turned back towards the counter, looking over the etchings in the marble. He saw scratches on the smooth rocks, and imagined a petite, hard-working mother, driving away at preparing a meal for her douchebag of a son.

He thought to himself about what kind of incapable parents would allow their child to throw such horrendous parties every weekend, before dismissing the thought entirely because he couldn't really bring it in himself to care.

And that was the most frightening part of it all – the not-caring.

Because he used to care. So much. Too much.

But then It happened and he stopped feeling things for a really long time.

And she was both the thing that saved and destroyed him

but he so wished that she had never saved him because he had almost wanted to be gone.

.

She had always hated how the door creaked. The wood would scream in agony every time it was even shifted, and a spray of dust would lather her face each instance that she opened the door.

But she sighed and did it anyways, crossing her fingers and hoping to any deity out there that they wouldn't wake up. She didn't want to deal with them. She couldn't. She was tired. So, so tired.

The door shrieked but was quickly shut behind her as she stepped inside the house. It was dark indoors. It was always so goddamn dark.

And it was winter outside, with the threats of snow interlaced in every breeze, and the frost had begun to touch the unwilling car windows and the trees shivered along with the wind, but somehow, in some twisted, unnerving fashion, it was colder indoors. The air around scratched at her shaking body, and her mind screamed at her to leave.

Eighteen sighed. The quiet chewed away at her, and she could almost hear the blood moving in her veins. She felt wetness on her thumb, and looked down to see that she'd been picking vigorously at her finger. There was blood all over. She sighed again and rubbed the crimson liquid against her shirt, uncaring for the inevitable stain.

She stepped slowly forward, making sure to walk over the missing floorboard exactly four paces front from the door. But her foot hit something, and she heard the item be thrust several paces away. She couldn't bother right now with trying to figure out what it was, but it seemed hard, kind of like steel.

She felt her throat close up, ever so slightly. It was probably a gun. And then she almost laughed. How many times has she seen one by now? Must she still be so afraid of it?

She shook her head. Now was not the time for thinking. Though it was never the time to wonder and contemplate for her. Her mind was such a dark place – she'd rather just always _do_, not _think_. But even the most impulsive of actions don't provide an escape from reality. They just shove you into a worse state of mind, and there was absolutely never a time for that. At least not for her.

She moved forward, feeling around for the eventual open archway. Eighteen stepped through, and was almost to her bedroom (if you can call a small, cold, dirty, and shared basement her bedroom, that is) when the floor creaked behind her. Suddenly a light was turned on, and she whipped around to see him, half-naked, his beer gut spilling over his dirty Calvin Klein's, and a bemused look on his face.

"Where the fuck were you?" His tone wasn't angry, just slightly irritated.

She cringed. She hated it when people swore. "J-Just out."

"There's a whole fucking vast world out there, 18. Define 'out'."

"I was at the diner. Just around the block."

"Alone? A pretty girl like you? Don't you worry about getting butt-fucked without permission by some lowly old loser?"

'_They can't possibly be any worse than you.' _She thought to herself, but wouldn't dare say out loud. "I can take care of myself."

"Like hell you can." He let out a small burp. "And don't come crying to me, begging me to get you checked out 'cus you thinks you got some new STA or STD or whatever the fuck they call it because some damn fucking hobo put his dysfunctional baby-maker in your ugly little pussy, you got that?"

She sighed. "C-Can you please –"

"What? Can I please _what_? You're gonna have to speak louder, sweetheart. Your voice ain't so pretty that I'm gonna bust my neck trying to bend down to listen to it." He stepped closer to her, and grabbed her jaw. She tried to struggle but he just held on tighter. "And don't fucking sigh in front of me again, 18. You know how much I fucking hate that. And you remember what happened the last time you disrespected me, don't you?"

She took in a deep breath, not responding. His breath smelled so foul.

"Don't you?" He said again, louder and shaking her jaw.

"Yes, yes, I-I remember."

His thin lips spread apart into a grin, showcasing his array of coloured teeth. Some gold, some silver, and some just plain yellow. And then he planted a big kiss on her mouth, ignoring the way she immediately stiffened. Pulling his head back, he rubbed his thumb against her bottom lip. "You need to get these moisturized, sweetheart. I don't want them to be so dry the next time I kiss them, okay?"

Eighteen nodded her head, just as he let go of her jaw.

"Now get to your fucking room and don't wake me again." He turned around and tapped the light switch to turn off the light, just as she thoroughly wiped her mouth to remove any traces of his. He began to stumble back into his room, as Eighteen turned around and slowly moved towards hers. She had to feel around, touching the walls to keep herself from falling. But then she heard his voice again.

"And don't go knocking my gun all over the fucking ground, alright?" He called behind him.

Eighteen stopped in her spot, and let out a shaky breath. She nodded, almost forgetting that he couldn't see her in the dark.

The goddamn dark.


	3. Chapter Two: Holocene

*** ****Chapter Two: Holocene**** ***

"Were you okay?"

She stirred her tea absentmindedly, letting her mind wonder over the changing colours of the spinning leaves. She listened to the gentle 'clank' of the teaspoon as it hit the cup, and focused on its resonation. She wanted to tune it out – tune everything out.

"Honey? D-Did you hear me?"

She felt so fragile and small. She _was_ small. She was only 5'2, and she would always wear such big, baggy clothes. She had never shopped for herself. She couldn't remember the last time that she had clothes accustomed for her – she had worn her father's used attire for as long as she could recall, and he was so, so big.

"Honey? Are you alright?"

And everyone always asked her why. Why, why, why. So many questions, all of the time. There was never an answer good enough, and so she just never responded.

"...do you not hear me? Where are you right now...?"

She sighed softly. It had gotten a lot easier. Because it was hard and disturbing and frustrating at first but more than that, it was weird. Weird because it seemed like every single person on Earth knew how to live, but not her. As if she was born not knowing how to exist. It was the most difficult thing in the world for her. She was born knowing how to breathe but unknowing what to do with that stolen breath.

Stolen, because she didn't deserve it.

"...answer me, honey. Please. You always get this 'gone' look on your face, and I don't know where you go...I need to know where you go..."

But it had gotten a lot easier. Not easy, but enough. It was better than too much, she supposed.

"Chi-Chi, goddamn it!" His fist slammed against the table, bringing the girl in question back to reality. She immediately dropped her spoon on the ground, and blinked up at her father's irritated gaze. She was startled.

"W-What is it? What did I do?" Her meek voice answered.

"Why aren't you answering me?"

She knitted her brows. "Did...did I doze again?"

He nodded his head, his brow creased in worry. Why was she always so gone? Her eyes were so big and frightened and her voice was so meek and small. It had been so long since he'd heard her sing. Heard her even hum. He sighed, scratching the side of his face. She was so beautiful and radiant and fluorescent, but there was nothing there. He had thought that that boy would have helped her somehow, but the tiny amount of light that had entered her eyes because of him was not enough. The brown in her gaze wasn't brown anymore, but a grim black, constantly screaming and shrieking against its confinements. She was blind, even though her sight wasn't.

"Geez, I'm sorry, dad. I didn't mean to. I-I can't control it sometimes, and –"

"I know, honey, I know." He sighed once more. "Don't worry about it." But even his own voice sounded unsure.

"What were you trying to tell me?"

"I just asked if you were okay."

"I'm…..fine."

"Last night, I meant."

"Oh." She recoiled back into her chair. She had always disliked his questions. "There were no, uh, _dreams_ last night. If that's what you meant."

"None at all?"

She nodded her head, and he smiled. "That's good – that's great, actually." But he remembered not to get too hopeful. It was just one night, after all. Though at least it had broken the 14 dream streak.

She nodded her head. "It is good. Small victories, right? Isn't that what you always say?"

Her father reached out and grabbed her recoiled hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "Small victories. Always."

She gave a small smile back, and slowly tore her hand away from his. She didn't like it when people touched her. She hated it, in fact. They had no right, nobody had any right to touch her.

Her father pretended not to be saddened by her action, but his eyes gave away his true emotions. Chi-Chi sighed and looked away, hating the hopeless look in his eyes.

She stood up. "I'm, uh….I'm gonna be late, so,"

He stood up after her. "Do you want me to drive you?"

"No, no, that's fine. I can walk."

"Really? Because it's on my way to work and I would have to leave a little bit earlier but that's completely fine with –"

"Dad. I'm fine." She hadn't meant her voice to be so harsh, but she was exhausted. She realized that he was only trying to help, but good intentions meant nothing to her. She was tired. "I like walking anyhow."

"Okay. Alright, if you think that's best." It was his turn for his voice to be small. He didn't look at her as he said his goodbyes, before leaving the room. She sighed, feeling her tiny body jump and rise in her oversized shirt.

Her strolls were soft and slow.

Her voice was gently waving, wrapping silkily around the pine trees. This was her favourite trail. The walkway was tiny, and it was hard to find the entrance – all the reason why she liked it. There was never anyone here. Just her and the leaves and the occasional blue jay, singling along with her.

She twirled once as she walked, allowing her voice to soar higher.

_I don't care if it hurts_

_I want to have control_

_I want a perfect body_

_I want a perfect soul_

She allowed a gentle scream to come into her song, and she felt the lyrics consume her. Her lithe body softly waved against the wind, and she closed her eyes. She was floating. She was gone.

_I want you to notice,_

_when I'm not around_

_You're so fucking special_

_I wish I was special_

.

Their voices were so fucking loud. Every syllable had to be screamed to be heard. Why didn't the teachers ever say anything? The entire hallways were filled with the screeches of the fucking football team, but nobody ever cared because it was this very squad that had saved this pathetic little school from being constructed into a series of outlet malls. The team, along with the national championship they brought every year.

He leaned back against the locker, pretending to laugh at some story Ryson told him. It was the biggest pile of bullshit that he'd ever heard, and he'd be okay with that if it was, at the very least, amusing. But almost no one and nothing was amusing anymore. Just a hum in the side of his ear as he strolled forward, blindly trying to find something worth latching onto. But all the voices droned on around him, blending into one endless tone, constricting his very breath. He tried to remember what class he had next, before the bell was to rang, but his mind was drawing a blank.

He supposed it did not really matter. He was never really good at school anyways. He wasn't dumb, but he didn't really see the point in geometry and geology and geography and all that shit. He didn't know what he wanted to be when he was older, but he never let himself think about the future. Or the past. He only allowed his mind to fly as far as the present, because everything else was too much.

He noticed her as soon as she stepped inside. He always noticed her.

He noticed the soft, quick steps she took on the way to her locker; the rosy stain on her cheeks from the cold wind outdoors; the way her long hair bounced behind her; the unflattering plaid shirt that seemed to completely engulf her miniature size.

But mainly he noticed the way that she kept her head down as she moved forward, never looking up at anyone or anything. Even him. Her face was expressionless; she neither smiled nor frowned. But he knew better than that. He saw the small, fluorescent fire in her big brown eyes. Seriously, how the hell were her eyes so big? They would swallow you whole if you stared into them long enough, which he could never do because she always looked away. Always.

He watched her as she moved across the hall, her tiny frame being easily pushed around by the surrounding, loud classmates. She didn't notice him. Or, she did notice him, but didn't bother to look at him.

He watched her push forward, forcing himself to ignore the way his heart clenched that she didn't watch back.

She was too good for him anyways. She was too good for everything in this fucking school – in this entire fucking town. She was the summer sky in the extraordinarily bleak thunder winds. She was the breath that he couldn't quite catch, but would spend forever trying to find.

"Goku? Man, are you listening?"

He nodded his head, giving a slight smile. Ryson's eyes were so fucking tiny.

.

She felt two arms wrap around her waist, and she squealed and turned around. She immediately wrapped her slender hands around his neck, and pulled him close. She put her face into the side of his throat and took a deep breath of the cologne he wore. She had hated Axe at first – "ultra-gay from the Bay", she called it – but she had come to love it, just as she had slowly come to love him.

"Hey, babe. I missed you." He gruffed out, putting his face into her beautiful azure hair.

"I missed you, too. How was Florida?"

"Fine. Fucking hot, but nice enough. Though it was nothing without you, babe." He pushed her against the locker and kissed her. She squealed before beginning to kiss back. She used to hate how he always touched her in public, but she had come to be okay with it. Okay enough, she supposed.

A teacher finally came to break them up, and Bulma ignored the way her body filled with relief. He grabbed her hand without asking, and they began to walk down the halls.

Yamcha waved and said the accustomed, "Sup" to a bunch of people as they moved, like he always did. But Bulma never really looked around. She kept forward with her head held high, but she could feel everyone's eyes fixated on her. They had reasons to regard her so highly, she realized that. She was a billionaire, after all. She was beautiful, and just a week ago, she had graced the cover of some magazine. She hadn't really paid much attention to the name.

And so she understood their scrutiny, but she only wished that it wasn't directed at her. She wished she could blend into the crowd without anyone batting an eye, like how that tiny brown-haired girl in her Calculus class seemed to do so well.

But even with all of their staring, nobody ever really came to talk to her. Bulma didn't have very many friends. She realized her problem, as did everyone else; she pushed people away. The few people that would come to approach her, Bulma would put on her usual unfriendly persona, and they would leave just as quickly as they came.

She sighed. The problem was bigger than her merely being mean. The problem was that nobody really interested her. Everyone was so boring and bland and one-dimensional. Nobody ever really had any fire in their eyes. Nobody ever had any truth or meaning hidden in their words. They just existed, without any real purpose to.

But it would be an overstatement to say that nobody did, because there were some who were worth it.

She spotted the spiky-haired football player at the end of the hallway, looking quite bored as he conversed with his teammates. She pulled Yamcha's hand in order to walk towards them.

Bulma smiled as she saw Goku practically yawn at his friend's words. She felt for him; she was, after all, in the same boat.

But then her heart began to clench, as it always did when she saw him. They used to be such good friends. Best friends, in fact, and they had been since they were little children. They did practically everything together, and she had considered Goku to be her real family, as her parents never paid her much attention.

But then It happened, and Goku was gone. _Her_ Goku was gone.

And instead he was replaced by the mere shadow of the boy she used to love. The person she saw today was not the real him. _This_ person was mean, and cold, and he never smiled. He would only give slight grins that never reached his eyes like they used to. He never really hung out with people anymore, and when he did, his facial expressions would be as if he was trapped in a kind of fucking hell or something. He was always so sad.

No, not sad. He was lost. He was hopeless. Bulma could see it in his slight smiles and his brown eyes that weren't really brown anymore. They were bleak.

She only ever got glimpses of the real him, when he was talking to _her._ Well, actually, he never really talked to her. Nobody did. She rarely ever spoke. Bulma would see the real Goku when he would be merely _looking_ at her. Bulma always saw his eyes trained on that girl whenever she was in the same room. And she yearned for her old friend, because if there anyone in this school that was more lost and hopeless than Goku, it was that girl.

And this was the real reason that she felt for Goku. Because she, too, had caught herself staring at someone who was so entirely lost and unattainable. But Bulma was in love – had been in love for the longest time – and she only wished that it was with her boyfriend.

"Hey, what up, man?" Yamcha asked some of the football team members, before letting go of Bulma's hand to go over and converse with them about the asinine existence they lived. Bulma refrained from rolling her eyes as she heard them speak of the upcoming party on Friday. All they cared about was having a good time drinking themselves blind.

She turned over to Goku. He gave a slight smile as she spoke. "How're you doing?"

"Good." He said. "Okay, actually. Kinda tired."

She frowned. "Oh, really? Did you go to bed late, or something?"

"No. No, not that kind of tired. Just, like, I don't know. Jesus, like, existentially, you know?"

Bulma felt her grimace go deeper. Existentially? Goku….the old Goku...would never…

"I-I heard that you helped them win the tournament, last weekend."

He laughed, suddenly, surprising her. "You too?"

"What do you mean?"

He chuckled again, though it was bitter. "Nothing. It's just, that's all anyone seems to talk to me about. Like, Jesus Christ, it was one fucking goal. I didn't even do shit, but people don't seem to let up."

Bulma felt her features slowly contort into another grimace. She suddenly scoffed, quite loudly, surprising the both of them. "They're just being nice, Goku. You can't possibly get angry at them for complimenting you."

"I don't need their compliments, Bulma."

"No. I know you don't. You don't need anyone, do you?"

He didn't answer, but he had stopped looking at her. He stared off at nothing in particular.

"You know, Goku," She ran a hand through her hair. "You keep pushing people away, and one day, there'll be nobody who'll come back."

It was his turn to scoff. "You're one to talk. You're so far up your own ass you can't even connect with your own idiot boyfriend."

She felt her eyes widen at his words. Bulma knitted her brows deeply. That hurt. That really fucking hurt. She opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again, unknowing what to say. But she saw the look of guilt begin to cross her old friend's features, as he sighed and looked back at her.

"I…." He sighed again. "I didn't mean that…..Jesus, I'm sorry, Bulma. I don't know why I get like that, sometimes. Especially to you…..I…."

Bulma nodded her head, knowing that her full voice wouldn't be able to come back. She had heard a few of his comments, but they had never been directed to her before. Not like that.

She sighed, staying silent for a while.

She was right. There was nobody. Everyone was gone, and they had all left Bulma behind.

Well, everyone except for Her.

.

She sat at her desk quietly, rushing in, trying to dodge all the bodies around her.

He knew. He knew exactly what she would do next. She would put her binders on the ground, leaning on the foot of her desk. She would arrange them in alphabetical order, by colour. Then she would knock on the top right side of her desk, precisely three times. What for, he didn't know.

She would then lean back in her chair, legs crossed, hands planted softly atop the table. She neither smiled nor frowned. She was empty, but altogether too deep.

He watched as she did just that. He followed her line of sight to see where it was she was looking, but then he decided that she wasn't watching anything. She was creating. He could see her mind working. She was somewhere else, and he only wished he could join her there.

"Goku! Jesus Christ!"

The boy in question was suddenly brought back to reality. He stared at the perky girl in front of him, flashing him her beautiful, pearly teeth. She had her hands on her hips, and her brows were wrinkled. He hoped that she hadn't noticed what he had been looking at.

"Y-Yeah? Yes?"

She sighed. "Goku. I asked you a question, but you were too busy fucking staring off at her."

"Her? Who?"

"I don't know what her fucking name is. I call her Big Tits, because, Jesus Christ, everyone knows she got a boob-job. Honestly, if you ask me, her new tits just make her look even fatter than she already was."

He breathed a sigh of relief, because she didn't know. He looked ahead, seeing a tall, curvy girl seated behind Chi-Chi. Goku frowned. He didn't know what she was talking about. He thought that girl was beautiful. Her big, curly-red hair suited her, as did her slightly unusual choice of wardrobe. She was different. She was beautiful.

Goku looked back at the girl in front of him, feeling more disdain for her than he already had. "What was the question?"

She huffed. "I always have to repeat myself with you."

"Maybe if you had something interesting to say, I would actually listen."

Goku watched in repulsion as she feigned a look of hurt, before she giggled and pushed his shoulder, in flirtation. "Oh, Goku, you're so bad!"

He gave a slight smile.

"Anyway," The girl, Kyla, continued. "My question was, are you going to the party this weekend?"

He sighed. "There's a party this weekend?"

"Yeah, silly! Carter's throwing one. And you know it's gonna be epic because the Gordons' are rich AF!"

He cleared his throat. Why the hell would people talk in texting lingo, in real life? Why couldn't she just say, "as fuck"?

"I don't know, maybe." He wasn't gonna go. He had already decided that after the last atrocious get-together.

"What? Why not! You have to be there. It's no fun without you!"

He laughed. The very notion confused him. He never spoke, nor did he drink at those parties. Where she got the thought that he was the source of their fun, Goku didn't know.

"I'll tell you this, if you go and compliment Big Red over there on her beautiful style, not sarcastically, I might consider going."

Kyla grimaced. "What? What kind of a deal is that? Her wardrobe is atrocious."

"That's your only option, beautiful."

She blushed, loving the nickname. Sighing in defeat, she walked over to Boob-Job girl, who was now on the other side of the room. Goku didn't bother watching them – he didn't really care. He took this opportunity to move away. Slowly, he approached her. She was staring at the floor in front of her. Her hair was hanging behind her, and she seemed like she was drowning in her big clothes. But even in her outfit, he could tell that she had perfect posture. She always did.

Goku took the seat next to her, then turned his chair to face her. She didn't notice. Of course she didn't.

"Hi, Chi." She didn't respond, so he gently tapped her on the shoulder. Chi-Chi looked over with a bewildered look on her face, as if she had literally fallen out of her thoughts.

"Oh, Goku." She said. Her voice was so soft. "I-I didn't even see you there."

"Yeah," He smiled. "You seemed to just be….somewhere else. What were you thinking about?"

"Just.….things."

"Like….?"

"Well, I was kind of thinking about….food."

He wrinkled his brows. "F-Food?"

"Yeah," She laughed. He loved her laugh. "My m….aunt used to make this cake, and I would, um, I would…..there was this big, beautiful field, with these, um, these profoundly-constructed lilies. They were purple. Everyone always said they were blue, and some went more specific, saying there were brandeis…or-or sapphire…or cobalt, or something. But no, they were purple, because they, they, um…"

"Yes? They…?" He encouraged.

She let out a nervous laugh. Her hand was slightly shaking. "They had this reflection, in the water of the creek beside them. They shone purple in the light of the water. And I always would think that, um, the water was the reality of the world, because there was this boy who had this deep, black scar on the side of his face, but when he looked at the murky, curved surface of the water, you couldn't see the scar. He was beautiful, like his…like the way his mind truly was, you know? It showed how a person really was."

She looked up for a minute at his face, only to quickly look away. He was staring at her, into her, so, so intently. She felt as if she would break. She only wished he would stop looking at her like that. Why did he always look at her like that?

He felt his heart begin to shake. All he wanted in that moment was for her big brown eyes to meet his bleak, black ones. He wanted to see her. He wanted her to let him see her.

"Anyways, yeah. That's, um, it's quite silly, I think, but, yeah."

Goku silently wondered how it was that a simple word such as "silly" could be spoken by two people, and sound so horrendous on one, and so very beautiful on the tongue of another.

"I don't think it's silly. You speak beautifully." She didn't respond, instead looking away even further. She didn't like his compliments. He knew that she didn't think she deserved them.

Which was the most preposterous thing that he had ever heard.

"Are you going to the party this Friday?" He asked, just to have something to say. But he already knew her answer. After he had somehow coerced her into attending the one last week, she had spent the whole time outside, away from the house. When the party ended, Goku had spent hours everywhere searching for her, even driving miles to her home, only to see that she had somehow slowly wandered there herself.

He had been angry at her for wandering off, but then he saw her with her rain-soaked hair, drifting down her tiny body so gracefully, and her big brown eyes made even more brown and big by the raindrops in her eyelashes, and he felt his anger dissipate as quickly as it had risen.

And he hated it.

He hated the effect that she had on him.

He hated it, he hated it, and he hated her,

and he hated the fact that he didn't hate her at all.

He felt his mind slowly explode. Why did she exist?

He knew it was some cruel joke played on him by the universe, that after beating him dry with calamity after calamity, they had brought him one saving grace only to have it be the one person in the entire world that he could never connect with.

He hated her, with every inch that he loved her.

.

"You make one fucking move, and you're fucking dead."

The girl on the other side of the knife squirmed. He placed it closer to her neck to shut her up further. One gulp, and her pretty little throat would be sliced.

"M-My father i-is the chief! He'll arrest you! I-I know he will!"

He couldn't help the throaty chuckle that escaped his mouth at that moment. She had to be fucking kidding him. He felt an anger pulse through his veins. How dare this fucking twelve-year-old threaten him?

He spat in her face, before drawing his knife quickly along her throat. He let her fall to the ground unceremoniously, convulsing as her blood spat out.

His only thought in that moment was, how he wished he'd drawn the knife a little slower, just to extend her pain.

"Anyone else want to fuck with me?" He screamed at the rest of the hostages. They had laid down on the ground like he'd ordered them to, all shaking but silent nonetheless.

He bent down towards the floor, and grabbed the sleeve of a coat of a well-dressed middle-aged man. Without any delicacy, he rubbed his bloodied knife on the clothing he was holding, not looking up at the man's horrified face.

He stood back up, holding the knife up high, smiling at its now-shiny, beautiful features.

He hated guns. He thought they were for pussies and for people who couldn't handle themselves well enough to not piss their pants and properly fight. They were for the easy way out, but surely, everyone must've known that there are no fucking easy way outs in life.

He chuckled mirthlessly to himself, grabbed the bag of money situated in front of him, and kicked the front door that he was about to leave from, shattering the glass into shards. He watched the broken pieces dance in the air, silently wandering to himself how it would feel against his skin.

He left the bank premises just as the cops came, before jumping on his motorbike and riding off, as far as he could muster. Absentmindedly, he traced the deep scar along the side of his face, feeling it's every jagged edge and dented curve. Once upon a time this very scar had disgusted him; revolted him into breaking every single mirror that he owned. It traced from his right temple all the way down his cheekbone, branching out into his fine jawline.

He scoffed. He loved the scar now. He loved its effect on people. He loved what it represented. It was a reminder of who he really was; just a broken old boy from the Chryslers, slowly etching his way into becoming the same man that that very boy had loathed his whole life. Funny how life worked sometimes. Funny how it played these little jokes on you, cackling at your misery. Funny, how that boy had spent his whole life trying to escape the unyielding wrath of his father, only to find himself slowly morphing into the beast he had spent so many years hiding under the table from.

Funny, funny, funny,

But that boy didn't really feel much like laughing.

He felt the harsh wind begin to pierce his skin, as he hooted and hollered in the quiet city streets. He screamed into the air, all the while trying to feel any type of adrenaline or fear or any fucking thing other than this numbness.

But his body was blind, and he drove further and further, with no particular destination in mind.

He suddenly skidded to a stop, and hopped off the bike. Grabbing the bag of money and a lighter, he lit the pack on fire, watching the paper bills be reduced to nothing but flame-ridden ashes.

The fire danced in his eyes, but was lost on any other part of his body.

He tried to feel,

something,

_anything,_

but his mind was as hopeless as the bleak winter winds he stood so quietly in.


	4. Chapter Three: Mark My Words

**A/N: I missed you all so, so much. I have great ideas for this story. We're getting there. Please tell me what you think.**

* * *

***Chapter Three: Mark My Words***

* * *

Goku rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion of a two-hour sleep wave over him. He felt a twitch in the palm of his right hand, the kind he always felt after a long day. And he had had so many of those days that he often felt a void when the twitch disappeared, as if it was meant to be a constant companion. Though that rarely ever happened. Most of the days that came were long, at least to him.

The feet planted on his lap let out a spasm and Goku's gaze followed the legs up to the body they were attached to, before frowning at the agonized face of the old man lying down on the couch. The man's eyes were closed but it wasn't due to a peaceful slumber; the pain of his cancer would be far too intensive to allow him to relax. And the corner of his eye was shuddering; a sign of a nightmare. Probably the same nightmare that haunted the both of them.

"Gohan," Goku muttered, gently shaking the man's shoulders. "Gohan, Gohan, wake up."

He forwent the 'Grandpa' that used to come prior to 'Gohan', solely because of the man's insistence on it, saying that the pronoun made him feel old, and even closer to his death bed. Goku didn't appreciate the change because it made him feel even further disconnected to the man, but he complied anyways. He wasn't the one dying.

Gohan awakened with a jolt, his eyes fluttering wildly. "Goku?" He breathed out shakily.

The boy in question grabbed his shoulders to steady him. "You're okay, dude. You're okay. Just some nightmares again."

Gohan, now sitting up, leaned against the boy, trying to catch his breath. "Nightmares…just nightmares….what were they about this time?"

"You tell me, old man." Goku replied.

Gohan took a moment to steady himself, before huffing. "I ain't old, Goku. Don't go calling me that now."

He laughed. "Your mind's too far gone for you to remember even your own dreams. I'd say that's pretty damn old."

Gohan punched Goku in the side, a weak attempt at hurting the boy. "I still wake up every morning with enough wood to rival a forest; now I'dsay that's pretty youthful, no?"

"That is so fucked up," Goku responded, laughing. "What a fucked up thing to tell your grandson."

Gohan let out a scratchy chuckle, feeling an ache in his side as he did so. At his small yelp of pain, Goku immediately got up, grabbed his medication, and brought it over to the man alongside a cup of water.

Gohan reluctantly grabbed the meds. "Fucking irony, man. Cancer was my father's poison. It wasn't supposed to be mine."

"I don't think any of this was supposed to be ours." Goku muttered quietly, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah? Then why is it?" He replied, swallowing and washing down the pills with water.

"Because we made them be. I made them be. I don't, I don't know."

Gohan sighed, feeling so tired at this same conversation, over and over again. "It's not your fault, Goku. None of it was your fault."

"I'm his son!" He snapped, suddenly feeling on edge. "It was, I was stupid, just like him. And he should've never existed but he fucked us over even ten years after I last saw him and I was so, so stupid for thinking it was going to be okay."

Gohan went silent. He studied the boy now seated next to him, and he took notice of the tired blinking of his eyes, and the wrinkles that were already beginning to form on his otherwise youthful face. He was young, too young for such pain. And they both knew that the pain wasn't about to end, but only increase. And perhaps that was the most ironic thing of all; that the only thing in their deteriorating, uncertain lives that they were sure about was that everything was about to change. They were sure of this the moment Gohan first coughed up blood all those months ago. It was only a matter of when.

"There were warning signs." Goku murmured quietly. "And there were so many. I should've known. And there's just so much anger now but it was my own fault, because I was too late."

Gohan didn't reply to his words, partly because he couldn't conjure up a sentence worth saying against that, but mostly because he felt heavy, and for once in a long time it wasn't because of the cancer that was weighing him down, but because of the sight of this sad, sad boy situated next to him; a boy that he didn't recognize, and hadn't for a long time. Goku was gone. Gohan didn't know who this person seated next to him was. The person dressed like Goku, and every once in a while, on a warm Friday night when Gohan's illness wasn't being particularly awful and Goku was on break from school, the boy would sound the same as the Goku he used to know, but those days hadn't happened in a long time, and Gohan wasn't holding his breath for any more.

Gohan reached out and grabbed Goku's shoulder, squeezing it tight. "Maybe you should go to sleep now, son. You've been up all night helping me, it's time you get some rest."

Goku shook his head. "Wouldn't have slept much anyways."

* * *

He parked his car in the usual spot, cringing at the screech his '97 Chrysler let out as he pulled the brake on. He turned the ignition off, and rested his hand against the steering wheel, closing his eyes.

He was already two hours late, but he couldn't find even the slightest bit of energy to push himself out of the vehicle. He didn't want to be here. Fucking, fucking hell he didn't want to be here. But then the question came of where he would want to be instead, and he felt a sigh exit his throat as he couldn't find an answer. There wasn't anywhere, any place in the world that he wanted to be at.

He peered out the window, and saw a hunched over frame in the corner of the parking lot. Even from here he could smell the marijuana the person was lighting up.

"Ah, fuck it." Goku muttered to himself as he stepped out the car, with every intention to get as high as possible before he had to force himself into hell.

As he neared the person, he observed the hunched over body, and was unable to recognize the boy. He had short spiky hair, and was wearing a thick leather jacket that seemed inappropriate for the humid, spring air of Vancouver. The boy seemed vaguely familiar but Goku couldn't quite place a name on him. He never really paid much attention to the little fucks at school anyways.

"Hey, man." Goku said as he stepped closer.

The boy didn't look up, still keeping his back to Goku. He took another toke from the joint.

"I've never seen you around before." Goku said, stopping a few feet away from him.

The boy took the cigarette out of his mouth and spat at the ground, before putting the pot back between his lips and taking a toke.

"Mind if I have a smoke?" Goku asked.

The boy huffed. "Fuck off." He mumbled quietly, the joint hanging between his lips.

"What did you say?"

The boy took the joint out of his mouth, and said, "Fuck. Off."

Goku let out a scoff. "Who the fuck even are you, man?"

He rolled his eyes and threw the joint to the ground, stepping on it to kill the smoke. Without responding he pushed past Goku, sticking his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down.

Goku tried to keep it at bay, the irritation he felt bubbling inside of his stomach. It was the same feeling that had fucked him over so many times before, that had caused him to say or do things that got him deeply into trouble, but the emotion was so powerful that Goku felt useless in fighting it. Reaching out, he grabbed the boy's shoulder in an attempt to turn him around. "I'm fucking talking to you, man."

The boy shoved off Goku's touch and kept moving forward without a response. Goku ran his hands through his hair, now intensely aggravated. Letting out a huff he walked after the boy and grabbed his shoulder again. This time, the boy didn't wait for Goku to speak first.

"Don't fucking touch me." He grunted out without turning around.

"Listen here, buddy, I'm just wondering who the fuck you think you are, coming into this school and acting like –"

In a single motion he whipped around, throwing a fist towards Goku's unsuspecting head. The years and years of fights and aggravation, however, had given Goku faster battling reflexes than most, and in a similar clean motion he ducked out of the way, kneeling over to avoid the punch. Though the hit hadn't occurred, however, the effect on his already-peeved mind was imminent.

Angry, Goku got back up and grabbed his shirt to lift him up and smash him against the nearest wall. The boy let out a groan at the sudden contact. "Listen here you cunt, I'm going to make you regret ever trying any shit like that, you fucking hear me –"

The boy turned his pained face to stare Goku directly in the eyes, and almost immediately Goku's words were stopped midsentence as his gaze scanned over the boy's face. His hands suddenly weaker, he let go of the boy, who fell to the ground but picked himself up right away.

"Jesus Christ," Goku mumbled to himself, backing away slowly. "You….you're,"

"If you ever fucking touch me again," The boy said, poison overtaking his voice. He was staring back at Goku now, his dark, dark eyes boring holes into Goku's brown ones. His fists were balled up at his sides, and he tried to push the anger away, to contain it and save it for another time as he always had. "I will make you so, so sorry. Do _you_ fucking hear _me_?"

Goku's voice was caught in his throat as he looked away. The boy's stare was too threatening. It was like his eyes were filled with….nothing. Cold. Empty. But his face... that mark. Before he could even respond, the boy walked away, each step a monstrous sound. As Goku looked back up, back at this monster, the one he had heard so much about but didn't even think truly existed, the boy was gone. Goku's overload of emotions was still present but the anger had turned into fear, into repulsion. He was disgusted with himself for even having had touched such a demon like him.

Turning around, Goku picked up the still-running joint on the ground, and held it in his hands, as if it was evidence that what he had just seen was in fact real. He crushed the cigarette in his hands, wincing at the burning sensation the smoke put into his palm before letting the ashes fall to the ground in a grey mess.

Disgusting.


End file.
